Pistachios
by MF Goon
Summary: In which Lily's brain slowly but surely melts, while James enjoys a mysterious snackfood. Rated T to be sure.


Disclaimer ; JK made them, we just use them.

He's lounging casually in his favourite armchair in the Gryffindor common room, the one that's right next to the fire, with the tiny patch where the stuffing's starting to come out. Not that I would know what his favourite chair is, obviously. 'Cause I don't. I don't care either; his favourite chair could be made of spikes and wood for all I care about him.

Git. Sitting in his stupid, favourite or possibly non favourite chair, stuffing his stupid face with his stupid, whatever he's eating.

What is he eating?

Whatever it is, it's incredibly distracting, making too much noise, disrupting my concentration. My concentration on my extremely important, erm, Witch Weekly. In my defence, it's got an interesting section this week on which robe colours go well with hair colours.

While it may well be true that I've had seventeen years of knowing that there's not many colours I can wear, resembling as I do a Christmas tree, with my red hair and green eyes. But still, it's nice to have a second opinion.

Grrrrr. Idiot Boy with his Idiot Chair and his Idiot Snack Food Of As Yet Unknown Identity which keeps making a noise as he prepares it for it's final journey into the abyss known as His Mouth.

Not that I'm paying attention to him. Nope, not even one teeny smidgeon. I mean, if I was, I would have noticed that his moronic Best Buddy and his other less moronic, but infinitely more werewolfy Best Buddy are missing. Pfft, when will those two just admit they enjoy shagging each other.

Did I just think werewolfy was a word? Good grief, Witch Weekly kills brain cells faster than I had realised. Soon I'll be operating at the brain level of Best Buddy Number Three, who's really more of a fan than a friend.

What a terrible thought. Luckily no one in here can read minds really, or I would have some explaining to do. At least, I don't think anyone can read minds. Apart from Dumbledore obviously, but he is both Ageless and Wise and is expected to know things us mere mortals can only admire from a distance.

Well, except Xeno Lovegood. But really I'm not even sure he's completely human. Not in a bad way, more in the "my mum shagged Zeus in bird form and I'm the result" way. Oh look, another thought that No One Must Ever Know.

This is all Idiot Boy's fault, really. Him and his stupid - what the eff _is_ he eating? Grr, damn not being All Seeing All Knowing - snack which is so distracting.

Huh, the common room's empty now. What the hell, when did that happen? Between Lady Zabini's latest husband's tragic death and Xeno's mum and Zeus getting it on, I suppose.

Oh God, The Idiot's coming over. Does he know what I've been thin - oh dear baby Jesus, what if he's Dumbledore's mini me, all the powers but none of the beard and eye twinkling. He's almost reached me. His face isn't saying I Know Every One Of Your Sick, Sick Greek God Bestiality Fantasies, Young Lady.

Maybe he's just Idiot Boy after all. This thought reassures me tremendously, and I look up just as he reaches me, as if I haven't been panicking since he got out of his favourite slash non favourite chair and headed towards me.

'Cause I really haven't.

Oh, he's about to say something.

"Pistachio, Evans?"

Heehee, he's asking if I want his nuts.

I can literally feel my brain cells dying every time I think.

"Evans? Are you feeling alright?"

Say something.

Anything.

Honestly, right about now would be perfect.

Oh God, I've lost the ability to speak. This must be karma for that time when I was 8 and accidentally transfigured Petunia's shampoo into cat piss. But really that was her fault, because she - oh, he's saying something again. I should listen.

"… want me to get Hestia?"

"NO!"

Oh goody, actual words. Well, one, shouted word. But who's counting, right?

I think I'm smiling at him. Am I?

"Am I smiling at you?"

He looks confused, clearly unsure what to make of my transformation into Bertha Jorkins' brain's stunt double. Aargh, yet another Bad Thought, even if this one is 99% based in fact.

"Er, more sort of grinning maniacally, really. Sorry." He accompanies this with his patented Hair Tug Of Nervousness, copyright JP '77.

I stop grinning. He thinks I'm mad, I can see it in his eyes. Well, I can't really see his eyes 'cause the flames from the fire are reflecting off his specks and hiding his eyes. Whatever.

"Okay. Right. Well, I'm off to bed now. Goodnight!" I half yell at the poor, confused boy-man with dancing fire where eyes should be, as I'm running up the stairs to my dormitory.

The flame-eyes are appropriate really, seeing as he is clearly The Devil sent to melt my brain via the power of pistachio nuts.

Good grief, is this what being in love does to a person?

Author's Note; So. Yeah. I was eating pistachios and for some reason this was the result. It's my first ever story, so I would appreciate reviews and or constructive criticism. No flames though. Flames stay where James' eyes should be.


End file.
